Moira Rose Quotes

Holy Moira Rose!

Charles Nicklin.

Forgive me, Lady Rose,” Moira apologized, “but I feel you have been a victim in all this. My son took grievous advantage of you.” Rose sat down, resting her gloved hands in her lap. “Lady Ashton, your son helped me learn to walk again. We became very close, and I do love him very much. Whether he is the earl or not.” Moira’s face tightened, and she turned back to Iris. “Your daughter deserves so much more than this. I am so sorry for the scandal. Mrs. Everett was responsible for locking them in together, so I’ve learned. But nonetheless, I must caution both of you. Iain let you believe he was someone he was not. He has no inheritance to offer, nothing at all. It would be best if you walked away before making a terrible mistake.” “Love is never a mistake,” Lady Penford said softly. “And I support whatever decision my daughters want. Just as you should support your son.” “I cannot think of him as my son,” Lady Ashton insisted. “He never should have been born.” The hatred in her voice startled Rose, and she reached out for her mother’s hand. But Lady Penford faced the matron with serenity. “Every child is a blessing. And if I had a man like Iain Donovan as my son, I would count myself fortunate indeed.

I should have rid myself of you when I learned I was with child. But it would have been a mortal sin.” She stared at him, and in her eyes, he saw nothing but hatred. “I’ve suffered every day you lived. And I will not stand by and let you ruin another woman’s life.” He expected Rose to speak, to say something to defend them. But her silence was damning. Though she continued to hold his hand, he could feel her grip loosening. She didn’t want him any more than his mother had. He should have expected it. And although he ought to let her go, now that she knew he was a bastard, damned if he wanted to. His only thread of honor had snapped in front of a truth he didn’t want to face. Iain stared at the women with no regrets for what he was about to do. He tightened his hand upon hers. “Most of the men and women in that ballroom will believe that I have compromised Lady Rose,” he said coolly. “I intend to marry her, no matter what anyone says about me.” “I cannot allow that,” Lady Wolcroft interrupted. “My granddaughter believed that you were an earl, a man who could provide a future for her. I believed that, too.” To Moira, she admitted, “I am sorry for my interference. You never told any of us about . . . why you hid him from the world. I thought you were merely estranged.” “I kept Iain away so that this would never happen,” his mother admitted. “I could not bring shame upon my husband.” It was as if he weren’t in the room at all. Iain refused to remain silent while they discussed his future. Ignoring all of them, he turned back to Rose. “Before all this happened, I asked you to marry me. Have your feelings changed, now that you know the truth?” The frozen expression on her face revealed her own doubts. “I feel as if I’ve stepped into the midst of a storm. I need a moment, Iain.” With that, she let go of his hand. The women closed in on her, and Lady Wolcroft sent him a dark look. “I think it’s best if you leave now, Ashton.” She opened the door and waited. Iain didn’t move. Instead, he locked his gaze upon Rose. “This is about what you want, a ghrá. They don’t matter.” She still wouldn’t look at him. But her hands were trembling as she gripped them together. “I—I need time to think.” It was as if he’d been imprisoned within panes of glass. He’d wanted to believe that she would be different. That she would love him enough to overlook the broken shards of the life he had. He didn’t want to leave her here with these vultures who would tell her how to live her life and what to do now. But when he saw her pale expression, his worst fears were confirmed. Love wasn’t enough to overcome the revelation that he was worth nothing. She’d wanted an earl, not a bastard. And no matter how much it broke him, the right thing was to let her go.

When I went into the attic to find the veil for Rose, I discovered this painting,” she began. “This is your great-grandfather, the third Earl of Ashton.” He wasn’t certain what to make of it, but then the weight of her words struck him. She’d said it was his great-grandfather. “He had green eyes,” Moira whispered. “You can see it for yourself.” Iain accepted the portrait, and when he took a closer look at the man, his blood ran cold. It was like looking into a mirror. There was no doubt at all that he was a blood relation to this man. He set down the portrait, and the hair stood up on his arms. Moira spoke first. “You have to understand how broken I was after I was violated by a man who was not my husband. And because Aidan sought revenge, he died. I found myself with a living reminder of that night.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Every time I looked at you, I could only think of the violence. I couldn’t see that you were a gift that Aidan left to me, so I wouldn’t be alone.” Moira turned away, her shoulders slumped forward. He couldn’t answer her, though he knew what she was saying. She finished with, “There is nothing I can say to undo the years I mistreated you. I neglected the only son remaining to me. The last piece of my husband, because I was too blind to see the truth.” For a time, he was frozen, not knowing how to respond. He was the Earl of Ashton in truth. By blood and by birthright. “I will leave, if you ask it of me,” she whispered. “I deserve to be cast out for what I did.” A part of him wanted to lash out at her, for the years she’d made him feel like a shadow worth nothing at all. But what good would it do? She had aged into a fragile shell of a woman who had based her life upon misery and bitterness. He had Rose now, the woman he loved more than life itself. He had brought her here to help him rebuild Ashton . . . but perhaps she could help him rebuild more than the estate. With a heavy sigh, he placed his hand upon his mother’s shoulder. “Will you walk with me when I meet my bride?” Moira took his hand and pressed it to her forehead. Against his fingers, he felt the wetness of her tears. “I will, yes. Thank you.” It would take time to let go of the past. But it would begin with a single step.

The first hint that something was going on, was learning that Mother wanted to eat in the private dining room that evening. The second was when she bullied me into wearing one of my new gowns, one she consented to my requisition despite it being premade and off the shelf, because, as she said, it suited me so very well. Still, I didn’t step wise to the plan until after we had been served appetizers and wine in the private dining room. There was a knock on the door. One of the serving maids answered. And Erin walked in. My mother was a dead woman. I plastered a smile on my face. “Erin! Come in!” A dead woman. A dead, dead, dead, dead woman. I was going to kill her. Slowly. A lot. Erin grinned, and I had to admit that my heart did skip a beat. “Dunleavy, you look lovely!” “Thank you, Erin. I’m so glad you could come.” My mother was taller than I, but I could reach her throat. That was all I really needed. “Holder Mallorough, I’m so glad you could join us this evening!” I looked at my mother. Who refused to look at me. “Oh, no. I was only keeping Lee company while she waited. I have an engagement with the Yings, and I’m going to be late.” I gaped at her, the significance of her words hitting me hard. Then I shut my mouth. Because I had to be wrong. She wouldn’t dare. She rose from the table and crossed the room to stand by Erin. “I must say you are looking particularly handsome tonight, Erin.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “It is so nice to see young people who know how to dress.” Then she looked at me. “Have a good evening.” She did dare. She was going to leave. She’d set this dinner up, without telling me, and now she was deserting me. I couldn’t believe it. Erin opened the door for her. She stepped out. I sat in my chair and wallowed in the moment of feeling stunned... Damn that woman. And all right, so I couldn’t actually strangle her. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough. But we had to have a talk. A long screaming serious one. No more soft shoes.

Can take care of myself.” Aye, that was why she’d latched on to us, complete strangers that we were. “I’ll buy you an entire fee-sish while I’m out.” Fee-sish was a bright pink, sweet, juicy fruit encased in a hard prickly shell. I suspected it was a favorite of Aryne’s from the way she tried to snatch any that appeared on a plate in her vicinity, though she had never said as much to me. “If I come back and feel no suspicion that you’ve left the room, the whole fruit is yours.” Aryne’s eyebrows rose. Yes, I was aware of the wiggle room I’d left her in that statement. I would have to give her the fruit if she managed to leave the room and return without my suspecting she had ever left in the first place. But then, I’d given myself breathing room, too. All I had to do was suspect. I didn’t have to prove anything. I was able to outwit an eleven-year-old. Occasionally. I was proud of myself.

Strastiplný rozhovor se točil kolem nějakého připravovaného loutkového filmu o jezevčících; drania-turg-samuraj začal hledat v aktovce technický scénář, a jak byl ze mne nervózní, nemohl jej pořád najít, třesoucíma se rukama vytahoval z aktovky pomuchlané papíry a pokládal je na stolek, odkud padaly na zem, na dovršení všeho vypadla na zelenou mramorovou desku stolku zlatá přilba ve tvaru ředkvičky a zazvonila tak jasným a vyzývavým hlasem, že celá kavárna zmlkla a hleděla na přilbu, jemně se kolébající na zeleném mramoru před ztuhlým dramaturgem, do ticha se ozývala jen melodie písně L'important, c'est la rose, kterou hrál na klavír, zasněně se usmívaje, oteklý seladon v červené vestičce. (Proč s sebou neustále taháme v taškách a v aktovkách zbraně z utajovaných nočních válek, krystaly ztuhlého jedu v krabičkách vystlaných rudým sametem, hlavu Gorgony Medusy, jazyky vyříznuté z dračí tlamy, mumii skřeta, kompromitující korespondenci v sumerštině, proč s sebou vláčíme strašné vnitřnosti minulosti, třebaže se jich bojíme a cítíme z nich hnus a třebaže víme, že neúprosná moira chce, aby nám to vždycky někde v hospodě, v kavárně nebo na návštěvě vypadlo na stůl?).